


something soft in a rough town

by whalers



Series: for what binds us [6]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Bisexual Female Character of Color, F/F, Lesbian Character of Color, in which the girls are gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 04:06:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12357096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalers/pseuds/whalers
Summary: She’s learned that men will always take what they want, no matter what they have to do to get it. She’s learned that men rule the world, and the world is especially cruel to little girls. She’s learned that even though in the isle of Gristol where a lady is empress, that doesn’t mean anything has changed.And all this is why she is not surprised in the slightest to see Daud’s gang in composed of mostly men. Mostly, because there is one other girl. Billie. And Billie is a whole lot of something wrapped up in one little teenage girl.; finding a little love in unlikely places.





	something soft in a rough town

Quinn has learned a lot over the years.

She’s learned that men will always take what they want, no matter what they have to do to get it. She’s learned that men rule the world, and the world is especially cruel to little girls. She’s learned that even though in the isle of Gristol where a lady is empress, that doesn’t mean anything has changed. Empress Jessamine is empress through birthright, not because the isle agreed on it, not because any of the isles agreed on it, and she’s sure the nobles in parliament look forward to the day Jessamine births a son. It seems ridiculously cruel to arrive in Gristol and learn of Empress Jessamine, then immediately confronted with the pitiful reality that nothing has changed. Nothing will change.

And all this is why she is not surprised in the slightest to see Daud’s gang in composed of mostly men. Mostly, because there is one other girl. Billie. They’re like opposites, Quinn has observed, with her light skin and Billie’s dark skin, with her long hair and Billie’s short hair, with how expressive she is and how Billie’s expressions seem to be limited. Quinn doesn’t know where Billie’s heritage lies, but all she hears is the same Gristolian accent adopted by most of the street rats. It’s much different than her own Tyvian accent. If the shape of her eyes doesn’t give it away, her accent always does. She doesn’t like the Gristolian accent all that much, to be perfectly honest (though she’ll never say as much aloud, the accent sounds too snobby), but Billie has other quirks that make her special. She’s strong, she’s swift, she’s oh so good at sneaking up on Quinn from the shadows, her blades are always sharpened, her eyes always have that determined shine to them. Quinn thinks Billie is beautiful.

Not everyone agrees with her.

“Billie?” Javier scoffs. He holds his knife up, closing one eye as he aims at the target dummy several feet away. Quinn stands off to the side to not get hit by a stray dagger or bolt from anyone around them, hands clasped behind her back. Javier throws it and it hits the target between the eyes. “She’s Daud’s favorite. No idea why, though. She wasn’t the first of us and she certainly wasn’t the first to be trained by him. But suddenly she’s getting promoted quicker than the others, spending most of her time trailing him around, all this -- this _fucking bullshit_. I’m tired of it.”

That isn’t the answer she had been expecting at all. It is very clear that Daud favors Billie. He never says it, but the way he regards and her watches her as she trains speak much louder than words ever will.

“Have you told him?”

“Fucking yes I have! He just brushes me off like I’m getting soft in the head.” Javier pulls out another knife, holding it up just like the last one. The knife gleams in the morning sun, clean and sharp, taken care of as if it’s Javier’s most prized possession. Quinn doesn’t doubt that it is. None of them have many possessions to call their own. They’re all street rats, or pups and guppies, as the older whalers refer to the newbies. Javier starts to mumble and grumble to himself, like an angry wolfhound. She can imagine him growling and prowling around his prey; his assault on the training dummies helps with the imagery.

Time to ask someone else.

Montgomery is a sweet soul. Quinn has noticed that he seems confused a lot, a little lost. She can’t help but wonder how he became a master assassin with his hearing issue. There’s no right way to ask without coming off rude or belittling; he’s not any weaker for his disability, it’s very obvious. He’s very good at stealth, he’s very good at wielding weapons. He’s an excellent spy. He spends most of his time with Malon or Feodor, and Malon speaks to him with his hands. It’s amazing and she almost wants to ask them to teach her. But today she is here for answers, not lessons.

She waves at Montgomery to get his attention. He greets her with a smile and a wave.

“Quinn, right?” His Gristolian accent is different from most of the others. Only Malon has his particular accent. She finds it a little hard to understand at times, though she is getting better. She can’t imagine it’s very easy for Montgomery to understand her accent.

She tries to speak clearly when she answers. “Yes. I wanted to ask you something.”

“What is it?”

“What do you think of Billie?”

Quinn has to repeat her question again. She tries not to speak too slow or too fast, just a normal way of speaking. That’s how Malon instructed. He does it for all the newbies, she thinks, because only a few have difficulty staying patient while speaking to Montgomery. He’s not mean and he’s not cruel. They can’t be good people by definition of being assassins for hire, but some of them have more good in their souls than bad. Montgomery is one of those people. He puts up with a lot. He doesn’t have quite the same amount of patience as Malon (no one does and no one ever will, as far as Quinn’s concerned), but he’s curious and easy going and Quinn knows deep in her heart that he would never hurt her.

Montgomery sits back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head a bit as he thinks.

“She’s patient with me. She usually writes down what she wants to say. I have a notepad full of our conversations.”

Well, that’s something she didn’t know. “Javier doesn’t like her.”

“Javier hardly likes anyone.” There’s a touch of bitterness in his voice. “He’s jealous because Daud likes her a lot.”

Montgomery says Daud like Dawd. Quinn wants to correct him. She’s heard most of the others pronounce his name like Dowd. Both pronunciations are too hard for her mouth to make, the name coming out all wrong and clanky, like a broken music box. So there’s no actual way for her to correct him. She hasn’t addressed Daud by name since she’s been here and she has no intentions of doing so. She doubts the man even cares; he wasn’t even the one to pick her off the street. Dimitri did. And he doesn’t oversee her training, Dimitri or Malon do. Or, on the rare occasion, Billie does (those training sessions are the best, by far).

Feodor is next. Quinn has learned during her time here that Feodor used to live on a ship. He sings sea shanties to himself or with Malon and Montgomery when he does his chores. He has trouble sleeping at night because he can’t get used to having solid earth beneath his feet. The sea will always be his home. He needs the rocking of the waves to lull him to sleep, something he can’t feel anymore. Something he longs for. Going on missions that require a boat ride are always his favorite. Curiously, Feodor had only learned to read more than the names of the isles once becoming a whaler. Quinn supposes that isn’t too out of the ordinary; her father couldn’t read very much, many of the girls she had been huddling with on the streets didn’t know how to write their own names. They couldn’t read the street signs and went on by pure memory, navigating the cities and getting by in their own ways. Quinn misses them. She misses reading stolen books to them and sleeping in dumpsters, curled around four or five skinny girls. She hopes they’re safe. Nothing is more dangerous than being a girl on the streets.

Feodor is sitting up on a rafter when she finds him, swinging his legs back and forth, humming a song that is familiar by now, though she has never learned the name.

She focuses and transverses up beside him. Her aim isn’t exactly right and she flails, feeling herself fall. A strong hand grabs her by the collar and hoists her properly onto the rafter. Quinn pants, a bit rattled, and Feodor grins in her face.

“Still overshootin’ your transversals, Queeny?”

“It’s _Quinn!_ ”

“Quinny.”

She shoves at him and he throws his head back in a laugh, gripping the rafter so he doesn’t fall off. Sometimes she wants to just punch his face in. She’s sure it’d hurt quite a bit with all the piercings he has on his eyebrows and his lip. Her ring would make a nice mark too. Her hand is balled into a fist before she knows it, rearing back and aiming right for his nose. Feodor grabs her wrist in a swift motion, her fist inches away from his face. He’s still laughing.

“Nuh-uh. I don’t think so. I didn’t get this blue jacket by sittin’ ‘round on my ass all day. You gonna hafta be faster than that, lil guppy.”

Quinn resists the urge to growl low her throat to avoid the possibility of Feodor calling her a pup instead. She _definitely_ wants to punch his stupid smirking face in. Feodor reminds her of her older brothers, wherever they may be now. One stayed in Tyvia, one went out to sea, and the other two somewhere out in the city. She’s never seen them (not that she was really looking, she had the girls to keep her safe) when she was still living in the streets. Feodor reminds her of her seabound brother, quick to tease her and make her feel silly, never outright mean, always looking after her. So no, she doesn’t hate Feodor, because she never hated that brother (she’d only hated the twins), will never hate that brother, and she often finds herself wondering, when she’s not busy with training and scouting missions and supply runs and daydreaming about Billie, if he’s happy out at sea, if he’s still alive, if the whales haven’t swallowed him whole. How silly would it be if he found out she’s a whaler too? Similar only in name.

“I know you didn’t transverse up here t’ punch me. What’chu want, Quinny?”

Oh, right. Feodor releases her wrist and she huffs, brushing her bangs away from her eyes. “What do you think about Billie?”

Feodor stares. “This a test?”

“What? No. I just want to know what you think of her.”

Feodor frowns a little, gazing up as the ceiling. He taps his chin, as if in deep thought, as if he has to dig through his memories to find out his genuine opinion on her. “She’s okay.”

Quinns groans, tugging on her braid in agitation. “Gonna give me a little more than that, sailor boy?”

“Alright alright,” he relents, laughing again. “She ain’t all that friendly, ya know? ’s fine, I get it. We ain’t all exactly the best ‘a people. An’ Daud likes her plenty. There’s just… _somethin’_ ‘bout her, though. I dunno, can’t put my finger on it.”

That’s curious. Quinn leans towards him, brown eyes wide and interested. “Like what?”

“Like… hm.” His eyes trail down to the floor, where whalers meander through the halls, talking amongst themselves, lost in their own thoughts, going off to do chores or train, patting themselves down to make sure they have everything in their arsenal required for whatever mission they’ve been sent to. Billie isn’t one of faces they see. It could be that she’s one of the masked whalers, but it’s doubtful. None of the three masked whalers walk with her gait. Feodor looks back at her, brows furrowed. He weighs his options, decides to pick the simplest way to explain it that he can.

“You know in a ship you have the captain an’ the first mate, right?” She nods. “An’ sometimes the first mate gets ahead ‘a ‘emselves, thinkin’ they’ve learned all they can ‘bout the ins an’ outs ‘a th’ ship an’ that they could be a better captain, that they a lil above everyone else ‘cos the captain favors ‘em.”

Quinn frowns, slowly piecing together what Feodor is saying, doing her best to understand his moshed up accent from various isles. That can’t be right. Did she understand him wrong? Billie wouldn’t try to do something like that. She’s sure a lot of the whalers would like to be the leader of their group. Who wouldn’t? Commandeering all these kids to do as they please, that’s a lot of power. But that doesn’t mean any one of them is going to stab Daud in between the ribs when his back is turned. They’re loyal to him, pledged their service to him, give him their everything because he looked down on them and told them they weren’t nothing, they could be _something_. She tells Feodor just as much.

“She’s just determined to be the best. That doesn’t mean she’s gonna kill Daud in his sleep.”

“I know, I know. ‘m jus’,” he shrugs. “Jus’ sayin’. She got a spark in her eyes that I seen b’fore.”

There’s something Feodor knows that she doesn’t, and he doesn’t seem inclined to explain. Whatever happened in his past is his own business. There may come a day when he sits her down on his lap, like he’s done before since she’s thin and lithe with the barest traces of baby fat clinging to her arms and legs and he’s much taller than her, on those cold stormy nights when the lightning flashes too brightly and the thunder rumbles too loudly that even her love of storms is outweighed by fear of their crumbling home collapsing to the ground and getting swept away by the waters, and he tells her of the tragedies that befell his old ship. Is it at the bottom of the sea? Had many people died because that person’s choices? She wants to know. It’s not time to know.

“Jus’ be careful, ‘kay, lil Quinny?”

“I will. Promise.”

She decides to hold off on seeking out others to ask about Billie. The conversation with Feodor sparked a lot of confusing thoughts and she doesn’t want to betray his trust by blurting it out to the next person she asks about Billie. She busies herself with watching Billie train Thomas, their swords clashing, their transverses swift and precise (nearly; Thomas is still learning). Billie is something else entirely. Quinn finds herself getting lost in the way she moves, that triumphant grin when she bests Thomas for the fifth time, how she shrugs off her overcoat when she gets too hot, how the sun beats down on her dark skin, sweat beading on her forehead. She’s never been so enamoured by one person before.

There’s been one or two girls she’s fancied before, out on the streets where the only form of affection they could receive was with each other or, foolishly, dangerously, sometimes the only way for the older girls to make money, seeking out men with coins in their pockets. She has never thought much of her affections towards girls before. She’d known from a very young age that girls made her eyes wander, never boys. Finding boys cute wasn’t something she couldn’t feel; boys could be cute. It stopped there. It never went further than finding a boy aesthetically pleasing. The moment they showed any sort of desire towards her, they were no longer cute and now somewhat of a burden, hanging over her, of which she could not reciprocate. Sole attraction to women has never been an issue for her; it isn’t as if she brought much attention to it. In Dunwall, though, the Abbey takes great joys in handing out fliers full of the evils of homosexual romances, pictures of terrible, incorrect depictions of depraved sex acts and how finding love with the same gender was against the Scriptures and a work of the Outsider. She’d been so angry when she saw the discarded flier she marched right up to the only overseer that even seemed the slightest bit approachable; the Serkonan boy who never wore the hideous mask. She’d demanded an explanation for these lies and he’d, much to her surprise, glanced around to make sure no one was listening, then leaned in close and whispered in her ear that he didn’t agree with the Abbey’s view in the slightest and she was free to love whomever her heart decided on. She still doesn’t trust overseers or the Abbey, now for obvious reasons, but that overseer isn’t all bad in her book.

Quinn pushes herself up, sighing. The sun is setting and she has dinner duty, which she is admittedly late for. She’d gotten lost in her thoughts; only Rulfio and Malon are training now. She walks down the halls, to the small kitchen. Only Thomas is there, peeling potatoes. A few carrots and greens are scattered on a worn out table. The main course, a large fish plus a handful of smaller fish, are still in the basket they were carried home in. She doesn’t envy the whalers who have food run duty; the food in Dunwall isn’t even that good, full of canned fish and imported goods that don’t taste anywhere as good as the fresh stuff. No noodles to be found, yet another tragedy. She sorely misses the food from her little village in Tyvia. Pulling on an apron, she grabs one of the smaller fish and takes her place beside Thomas, working on brushing off the scales before she cuts it open.

Thomas is the most quiet boy she’s ever met. He barely speaks to anyone aside from Daud, Rinaldo, and Rulfio. His sleep is always disturbed by nightmares. Twisting and turning in his bed, getting tangled in the sheets, waking up early in the morning pale and clammy. She doesn’t envy him. She’s seen the way he lashes out at anyone who tries to touch him when he’s sleeping, the way he flinches if someone touches him without warning. She’s seen the exact mannerisms on some of the older girls on the streets, on the ones who will always carry the scars of night after night of horrid monsters leaning over them in the beds, taking what isn’t theirs. Quinn knows the signs, understands his haunted face after a night of horrible dreams. She knows that he knows she knows. They never speak about it.

“For being the center of the Empire, Dunwall has some awful food,” she comments idly to dispel the silence.

Thomas hums in agreement, cutting up a freshly peeled potato and dropping the pieces into the simmering pot. Stew again. Quinn is so tired of it.

“We didn’t have much back in Tyvia, but my mama would make the best noodles. She’d handpull them herself while me and my brothers watched.”

His lips quirk up a little and Quinn knows she’s picked the right topic. She knows better than to ask him about Billie. She doesn’t think Billie likes Thomas very much and the feeling is most likely mutual. “Did you ever learn how?” Thomas’ accent isn’t exactly like hers; it’s fainter, smoothed out, like he’s spent a while trying to hide it. His dirty blond hair isn’t too unheard of for the Tyvians with the rougher accents and hearty meals made of root vegetables, but mixed with his light brown complexion and the different eye shape from the other Tyvian, Yuri, (and Jenkins, but his Serkonan/Tyvian mix makes him look much different than anyone Quinn had seen back home), Quinn’s sure she’s among the few who actually know he hails from Tyvia. Not her village, but close enough.

“I did! But not too well.” She grins sheepishly. “Did you?”

Thomas nods, returning his gaze to the potatoes. “I did. I made dumplings a lot too, before I came here.”

Quinn’s eyes light up. “It feels like forever since I had dumplings! All we have now is stew and canned fish. I’ve never seen so much canned fish in my life.”

Thomas shoots a vaguely disgusted look at the cans lining the cabinet, dropping the remaining potatoes into the pot. He starts cutting up the carrots and others greens, that Quinn sees are more than a little wilted. She can only hope that they turn this stew into something mildly good. Thomas grabs for the spices, which are few and far between ( _use them sparingly_ , Daud has said), adding them to the pot with the rest of the vegetables and a few cups of stock. Thomas really knows his way around the kitchen; the spices mixing with the stew make a pleasant aroma that fills the kitchen. A big smile spreads across Quinn’s face and she works double time, scratching the scales off each of the fish, and with Thomas’ help they tackle the big fish, grunting and straining as they cut through the bones to chop it into chunks.

“This should last us for a few days,” Thomas says, wiping his brow with a bit of cloth. He hangs up his apron, leaning against the counter and tilting his head back, eyes closed. He looks tired. Quinn wants to suggest he take a nap, doesn’t, decides to stay on topic.

“I hope the others like it. My hands would be a bloody mess from cutting up that fish if I hadn’t been wearing my gloves.” She flexes her hands, realizing she’ll need to wash her gloves extra well to get the fish scent out. What a mess.

 

* * *

 

Bathing is a bit of an affair. Some of the boys bathe together, others prefer to bathe quickly on their own or wait until the late hours of the night or the early hours of the morning to take as long of a bath as they like. There are a handful of bathrooms in their current base thankfully, they don’t all need to crowd or argue too much. Malon has told her that, in their first base, once more whalers started to get picked up, there was a huge issue with sharing the bathroom. Quinn can relate; her old home only had one bathroom that had to be shared with seven people.

It’s late when she decides to take her bath. The full moon is high in the sky and most of the others are sleeping or keeping quiet enough not to disturb the others. Peering out the windows on the way to the bath, clothes and soap and an old towel tucked under her arm, she can catch glimpses of those assigned to night patrol transversing around, perching on roofs and sitting on windowsills as they survey the quiet night. She doesn’t envy their jobs.

Approaching her usual bathroom of choice, she pushes open the door without thinking, mind caught up in wishes for the future and what tomorrow may bring, if the Month of Rain really brings as much rain as the others claim it does. A soft gasp breaks her out of her reverie and she freezes, eyes wide, as Billie sinks lower into the bathwater.

“Oh _void_ \-- I’m sorry, I didn’t -- usually no one bathes at this time!” Quinn trips over her words as she blurts out an apology, taking a hesitant step back. This is not how she wished to bump into Billie tonight. She feels like she may melt into the floorboards.

Billie stares at her evenly, the initial shock ebbing away. “It’s alright,” she says, just a touch of uncertainty in her voice. “It’s fine. You can come in.”

Quinn hesitates. She glances behind her to make sure no one is around and all she sees is a stray cat jumping in through an open window. Everyone is away from the area. If anyone had even bothered to come around here and use their Void Gaze to survey the area, she doubts they’d even bat an eye. Some whalers do bathe together after all, and what’s so odd about two girls doing it? It’s to be expected, in fact. If the boys can, she can too.

She shuts the door and walks over, placing her towel, soap, and clothes on the floor beside Billie’s.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” she asks, taking brief glances at Billie as she begins unbuttoning her shirt.

“If it wasn’t okay I would have told you to get out,” Billie replies simply, her earlier uncertainty all but gone. She can’t deny that Quinn is pretty, her round face and long hair always draw her eye. In a place where Quinn is the only girl, and a beautiful, good natured, high spirited one at that, it’s hard _not_ to look. Quinn isn’t exactly subtle with her crush anyway.

Quinn, her cheeks a bright pink, climbs into the tub carefully, not wanting the water to spill over the sides. This place is damp enough. No one wants more mold growing in the floorboards, and she doesn’t want to risk slipping on the water and making a fool in front of Billie when they’re done.

Washing commences in silence, and it’s almost overbearing to Quinn, but she doesn’t know what to say to break the silence.

“I heard you were asking the others about me.” Billie’s chosen topic is unexpected. Quinn’s fingers pause their unbraiding.

“Ah?”

Billie glances at her out of the corner of her eye as she washes her hair. Quinn looks down at the soapy water, fingers fumbling to undo her long braid.

“Wasn’t anything bad,” she says quietly, almost ashamed. She feels caught, even though she knows she hasn’t done anything wrong. “I just wanted…” she shrugs, embarrassment making her stomach twist. “To know more about you? The others have known you longer than I have.”

“You’re right.” Billie’s voice doesn’t hold even the slightest bit of anger, but it’s also carefully devoid of any emotion. Quinn can’t read her voice and she can’t bear to look up at her face. “Why didn’t you ask Daud?”

“I haven’t seen him all day.”

“Thomas?”

Quinn snorts quietly. “Everyone knows you two don’t like each other.” And she wasn’t about to mess up the moment they had together during dinner prep. That was the nicest time she has ever spent with him. “It would’ve upset him, I think.”

Billie nods, thoughtful. “You’re right. He’s always getting upset over everything.”

Quinn doesn’t think that’s necessarily true, but she holds her tongue, tries to shift the conversation to a safer topic. “Do you like training with him?”

Billie scoffs, grabbing for a nearby wooden bucket. She fills it with water and pours it over her hair, washing the soap out. She does this two more times and Quinn starts combing her fingers through her long hair to get the tangles out.

“He has potential but he’s…” She purses her lips, trying to find the right word. She shakes her head, unable to properly describe exactly how she feels about Thomas’ fighting style. “There’s just something about him I don’t like.”

“Oh. Well, would you maybe want to train with me instead?” Quinn asks without missing a beat, not entirely wanting to dwell too long on what Billie has said. Thomas is a good fighter. He could kick her ass any day (and she won’t be surprised when he inevitably gets promoted to master assassin, because she _knows_ it’s going to happen, there’s no way he’ll be a novice forever), but she respects Billie’s opinion, however confusing it may be. The possibility of being able to train with Billie doesn’t let her stay on that train of that for very long.

Billie looks to Quinn for a moment, then her mouth splits into a grin and she nods. “Yes.”

Quinn finds herself breathless. She wishes, more than anything, that she had the courage to close the distance between them and place a gentle kiss upon that grin that reaches Billie’s deep brown eyes.

 

* * *

 

Training with Billie is never easy, but Quinn finds herself loving it regardless of the aches and bruises and cuts she gets. Billie deserves her rank as a master assassin, and she’s not surprised why Daud’s so taken by her. She’s strong, she knows her stuff. Quinn can see the techniques she’s picked up from Daud and Malon from many training sessions. She can see that Billie is one of the best assassins in their little group (though she knows not everyone agrees with her) and she’s grateful that Billie continues to train her as the weeks go on.

Their little moments, when Billie meets her eyes, places her hand on her shoulder, squeezing it tightly, praises her just a little, all of those little things any of the others may not bat an eye at, make Quinn feel special. Billie isn’t very friendly with many of the others. She doesn’t quite fit in with their group, Quinn has noticed. Whether that’s because she holds herself a little bit higher than the others for being Daud’s favorite ( _I’m not his favorite_ , she’d told Quinn when she brought it up, and Quinn had raised an eyebrow, clearing not believing a word. Billie had rolled her eyes. _we just get along, that’s all it is_ ) or because she doesn’t get along very well with people, Quinn isn’t all that sure. She’s just happy Billie seems to like her enough to spend time with her.

Sometimes, when she’s laying in bed late at night, her wet hair draped over the side of the bed as it dries, she feels _important_. Daud may barely know her but Billie does. Billie sees potential in her. Her, Quinn, a newbie, just a little novice who still overshoots her transversals. She means something to someone so talented. Maybe Billie even thinks she’s pretty, if those little smiles are anything to go by, if those lingering touches mean anything. 

 

* * *

 

Days pass. It’s late in the afternoon, the sun just dipping below the horizon, and Billie is taking care of Quinn’s hand. Her skin is scraped from a nasty fall, bleeding and dirty. Quinn can’t hide her winces and Billie hushes her whenever her whines get too much.

“You’re really not that good at this,” Quinn mumbles, gritting her teeth when Billie pulls out splinters too quickly.

“Shut up,” Billie retorts without any true malice.

Quinn laughs, but it falls short as she winces again. Billie pours a strong smelling liquid, disinfectant by the way it feels like someone is pressing fire against her cuts, and bandages her hand a bit clumsily.

“There,” Billie says, exasperation and pride both equal in her voice. “You better watch yourself. It wouldn’t have been this bad if you’d kept your gloves on.”

Quinn delicately holds her hand to her chest, tracing the bandages. Her mouth pulls down in a frown and she rolls her eyes. She pushes herself up from the chair and tugs her gloves on slowly, making sure Billie sees. Billie shoves her and they both laugh.

 

* * *

 

It’s late and freezing, the cold settling into her bones and causing her body to constantly tremble. Quinn wants to go back inside. Late night patrol is much worse than she’d imagined. Transversing across the rooftops and watching the entryways into their hideout is tedious and tiring and a little dangerous for whalers such as herself who still haven’t gotten transversing down properly. She’ll never advance from her lowly status as a novice if she can’t do it properly, and that’s just another thing that dampens her spirit tonight.

Even worse is her patrol is shared with her least favorite whaler, Pavel.

Pavel hasn’t done anything to her per se, but there’s something about him she can’t place her finger on. The moment Daud walked in with him, she knew there was something off. His abnormally pale complexion and vibrant blue eyes, while not inherently strange ( _it’s albinism,_ Hobson had told her, _a genetic mutation_ ), make him seem more strange. And she may be being extra mean by poking at his looks, but she can’t help it. It’s not like she has any intentions of saying this to his face. Looks aside, he’s oddly quiet and detached from the others. He can never seem to put feeling behind his words and he has this constant, almost unblinking stare that sets her off.

He’s staring at her right now, in fact, and she shoots him a harsh glare.

“ _What?_ ” she snaps, irritable and sleep deprived and too cold.

“You can wear my jacket,” he says in his weird almost sing-song voice (but it’s not nice on her ears like Cleon’s is, his voice grates on her nerves and she has no idea why). “This is nothing compared to Tyvia.” He taps his pale fingers against the roof. “The part of Tyvia I’m from,” he adds, remembering she grew up in Tyvia as well.

Quinn rolls her eyes. “I’m fine.”

Pavel tilts his head slightly. “You’re shivering.”

“I’m _fine_. Leave me alone.” She turns and transverses to another rooftop, tripping a little. She steadies herself and clenches her fists, her breath coming out in short puffs. Behind her, she hears the air displace and boots tap softly against the metal of the roof.

“Brought cocoa.” It’s Dimitri. Quinn lets her shoulders sag and she turns, seeing his face peering out from his hood. She’s never been so happy to see him in her life. Dimitri seems to be the only one who genuinely likes being around Pavel. He speaks to him in his strong accent that she can’t quite place, almost like Feodor’s, and it keeps Pavel’s stupid gaze off her. Dimitri is a blessing. Even if he does scold her every time she snaps too harshly at Pavel.

She gratefully takes the mug and drinks, letting the warmth of the hot cocoa envelop her. It doesn’t heat her up entirely, but it’s warm and delicious and she feels her spirits lifting a little.

“Thanks. Did you make this?” She’s never known Dimitri to do very well in the kitchen.

“Nah,” he shakes his head dismissively and vanishes, appearing on the other roof next to Pavel. “Thomas made it!” he says, raising his voice. He drops down beside Pavel and hands him the other mug. He leans back and stares up at the stars, his hood slipping off and revealing his messy hair. “Kid can’t sleep so I asked him if he could make somethin’ warm, since it’s so fuckin’ cold out here.”

“You should’ve invited him to join us.” Quinn makes her way closer to Dimitri and Pavel and sits down, though still not on their roof. She’s pretty sure if Daud stuck his head out of his office and saw them all clumped together instead of actually patrolling, they’d get in trouble. She also just doesn’t want to be in the same space as Pavel.

Another rush of void and a familiar voice says behind her, “No, he shouldn’t have.” Quinn jumps and almost drops her mug, twisting around to stare at Billie. “He doesn’t like me, remember?” She smiles and taps Quinn’s shoulder, making a motion with her hand to get up. Quinn obliges, feeling breathless. Billie doesn’t have patrol tonight. What’s she doing here? She hates cold late night patrol.

“Only ‘cause you pick on him so bad,” Dimitri says, laying down. He clasps his hands over his chest and looks so relaxed, Quinn hopes Aedan doesn’t come to check on them.

“I don’t.” Billie steals a sip of cocoa from Quinn’s mug.

“You pushed him into the water last week,” Pavel says absently.

“Did I?”

Quinn can’t help the laugh that escapes her and immediately covers her mouth to stifle it. She doesn’t want to laugh at Thomas’ misfortune but the thought of Billie shoving him into the water is too funny even for her. Billie smirks at her and takes her arm, transversing away, far enough from the boys that Quinn can’t see them anymore. Quinn shivers and Billie steps close. Her brown eyes are so dark, Quinn thinks they look black, the light of the moon hardly illuminating them as they stand in the shadow of a tall, crumbling apartment.

Billie tilts her head and presses her lips against Quinn’s and time seems to stop. Quinn can taste chocolate and something else sweet and she’s lost, her mind going in a million different directions at once. Billie is warm and her kisses are surprising gentle. And then it’s over. Billie pulls back and steals the mug right out of her hands. Her eyes are unreadable but there’s that smirk and Quinn must have the silliest expression on her face because Billie laughs.

Quinn feels lightheaded. She doesn’t understand how one person could repeatedly fall in love with someone. But this is it, and she’s hooked. The world is a dangerous place for girls like them. But for tonight, it’s just them, and they’re safe. She leans in and gives Billie a kiss, silencing her laughter. Maybe tonight’s patrol won’t be so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> the prompt was something nice with quinn.  
> this took me months because i struggled so much! to write billie! i just wanted to write sweet wlw and this happens :( i'm sorry for not posting anything in 40 yrs.
> 
> for reference:  
> quinn is korean and a bit younger than billie, but just a little.
> 
> please leave a kudo or comment if you liked it!


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